


Treading Water, Castle Burning

by kitbashed (greebled)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drinking, Gen, insane amount of characters introduced to wordcount ratio, me editing and posting this after waking up at 5pm is method acting, time travel as an allegory for burnout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greebled/pseuds/kitbashed
Summary: It was with that stealth that Byleth left her room, a fierce and silent huntress, like a panther in three-day-old sleepclothes. She prowled through the grounds, a zigzagging path to shake any potential stalkers and fiends. Dilute as it was with grief, she felt the teeniest bit smug when she neared the final staircase to the graveyard. Her father had taught her well. Not a single person had pursued her, and no one was ever here in the evening like this.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Treading Water, Castle Burning

_Did you see the big wave coming?_  
_Did you feel the planet moving?_  
_Will you know that you've been missing_  
_All the time you're losing_  
-Jenna Caravello, "Hold On, Sailor"

The light streaming in through the crack in her curtains was orange-ish and golden hour-y. She noticed, distantly, but to say Byleth had been watching the glow shift from morning to daytime to evening would be framing her as more of an active participant than she was. Truth be told, all she’d done today was nap fitfully and fix long, bleary glances at the light refracting off the cut gem in her heirloom ring, with little thought put into what the change in color meant. 

Slowly, she reached out to touch it.

Pressed it forward, flat on its crystal face.

Let go, let it hit back against the journal’s hide with a nearly-inaudaible little  _ bumnp _ . The worn leather cover of the dog-eared old diary it rested on was the most alive-looking thing in the entire room.

While the rest of the world had half a decade to adjust to Jerlat’s death, the Ashen Demon’s skip ahead in time muddled things. Spiritual hibernation, as it turned out, was more trouble than it was worth. Maybe that’s why five-year naps were so uncommon; It only put things on pause. Time passed without her, and now here she was, still missing him with the raw emotion of a newly orphaned child. Deep and painful, an abscessed wound.

She looked upon his things with the stillness of a bored student, the cavity between her ribs feeling more empty than ever. Eventually, the soreness of wallowing in it became worse than the idea of throwing her blankets off, so all at once, she did just that.

For as long as she’d been aware of her apparent stone-facedness, Byleth had been grateful for it. Sure, it put people off, but it was what she was used to. The idea of being read at a glance filled her with unease. It was better to elude people than to have them pry. It came in handy in times like this.

For example, if she had been sad  _ outwardly _ , crying and frowning and “easy to read”, her former students may have worried about her when she canceled everything in the days leading up to and after her dead father’s birthday. Or when she ordered everybody not to disturb her. Or when she stopped joining them for meals the week before that. Or when she stopped finding any pleasure in the activities she used to enjoy, her sudden absence disrupting the food chain in the pond so severely it would be felt for generations. Or when she stopped checking in on anybody. Or when she stopped all her one on one sessions. Or when stopped training herself.

No, there’s no way they were concerned, because Byleth didn’t look sad. A mercenary’s stealth continued to serve her well, years into her new life.

It was with that stealth that Byleth left her room, a fierce and silent huntress, like a panther in three-day-old sleepclothes. She prowled through the grounds, a zigzagging path to shake any potential stalkers and fiends. Dilute as it was with grief, she felt the teeniest bit smug when she neared the final staircase to the graveyard. Her father had taught her well. Not a single person had pursued her, and no one was ever here in the evening like this.

Annette spots her first.

“Oh! Oh, hey, Professor!” She chirped, perched on a tombstone. “Wow! You look comfy!”

If that were true before, it certainly wouldn’t be then. Byleth stopped in her tracks in a bigfootesque half-step. It wasn’t just Annette, every last one of her former students were here, clumped loosely together and conversing. Not only were they here, but the casual way they lounged about in such a place suggested…

“How long were you waiting for me?”

A ripple went through the crowd as they attempted to psychically coordinate an answer. A few hums and false starts, before a rumpled shape by the opposite stairway took the reins.

“I have been here since daybreak. If I am to waste my time, it may as well be for, for,” As if hearing himself, Dimitri cleared his throat, trying to tame the growl out of his tone. Beside him, Dedue took in a big breath, and he  subconsciously followed suit. He was rigid and putting out a foul mood like an anxious stick of incense, but his eye fixed level and calm on her. “For you, Professor. Today must not be easy.”

“His Highness has been here since three mornings ago, Professor,” Dedue corrected. Dimitri’s glance flickered like that was genuinely news to him. Somewhat off balance now, he took a seat on the steps, at his retainer’s side. “And I have been here to provide relief whenever I am not resting myself.”

From his place leaning against a wall, Felix scoffed. “I don’t understand what the point of that was. Obviously, they weren’t going to come here until today.” He upturns his nose, like the smartest person in the world. “Which is why I had my stakeout at the training grounds instead.”

“I’ve been spending a little extra time at the cathedral,” Ashe admitted. He was sitting on a blanket with the last two girls. No doubt taking a feminine bullet for Ingrid, he allowed Mercedes to tuck daisy after little white graveyard daisy into his hair. “That’s usually where I go to sulk.”

Byleth hated this. “I haven’t been sulking.”

“You have,” said Mercedes and Ingrid in unison.

Then, Ingrid continued. “There’s no shame in it, Professor. We’ve all been there.”

“I haven’t,” said Felix.

“I think what Ingrid is trying to say is that we care a lot, and we’ve all been so worried about you,” soothed Mercedes.

“I don’t,” chimed Sylvain, lounging on another headstone a little ways off. Jeralt and Sitri’s, despite being completely filled in with grass by now, had an invisible forcefield around it. Once he was the center of attention, he grinned at Byleth, and waved. “Just kidding, I just needed a way to cut in. Hey, Teach! You’re looking beautiful as ever.”

What a relief. Byleth’s shoulders sagged in her saggy nightgown. Her tangled hair tickled the back of her neck.

“Even if you do look, like, super sad.”

Fuck.

Annette gave Byleth a sheepish smile like this was all her fault. “If you wanna be alone here, that’s okay! But we wanna help, if you want help! With whatever it is!” She raises her small fists in excitement, all aglow at the idea. “We could pick flowers for his grave! Or, or we could have a picnic! Or you could cry on Dimitri’s cape!”

Dimitri bowed his head like a dutiful warhorse.

“Nah, Annie, that’s not it,” said Sylvain, with a dreadful, knowing smirk. Byleth feltlike everyone had been seeing right through her, but his energy was even more acute. He gave a roll of his hand, an  _ out with it  _ gesture. “Well? Did you bring enough to share with the class?”

Nothing in her face betrayed her surprise. As the others looked to him and ask questions, she only stared. Overwhelmed as she was, she had to admit she felt a little better than she did growing moss in her room. She nodded in quiet, knightly acknowledgment. She reached into the collar of her gown, into her breastband, and pulled out the large flask she’d squirreled in. Everyone but Sylvain (who has never looked happier) lets out a shout.

Ashe vetoed the idea of passing the single vessel of plum liquor around because he was “allergic to fun” and/or “traumatized from losing his family to the great plague”. This turned the whole affair into something with more nuance. If they were going into the kitchens to get goblets, they may as well send others along to get snacks. And while they were waiting for that, what was the harm in sending some others to the greenhouse for flowers?

By the time they were all properly settled with their cups, the sun is nearly set, but there were enough torches lit to flatter their bounty of pilfered snacks, the quiltwork of quilts on the grass, and the display Jeralt’s grave has become. It was adorned with rocks, spearheads, small trinkets and whatever food items the gang assumes the monastery’s vermin and cats would pass up, like pinches of tea leaves and fossilized attempts at baked goods from Flayn.

Standing before it, Byleth feels less sad than she has in months. So why did she feel closer to crying  _ now? _

Clearly it was because the crowd is tired of standing around, and not because of anything in her expression, that Ingrid breaks the silence. “To Sir Jeralt, the Blade Breaker,” she says, with a puff of her chest and a raised chalice.

Then, before taking a sip, she paused, clicked her tongue. “Wait, is that right?” There was a chorus of immensely displeased noises, but Ingrid only looked to Byleth as she took a hearty gulp from her own flask. “Was Jeralt still considered a knight when he passed, Professor? His situation was so bizarre.”

“I don’t know. He was always a mercenary to me,” she said, devoid of any judgment. “I think he’d think you worrying about a  _ Sir  _ would be funny.”

_ “Professor-” _

Ingrid was compelled by this thought, and someone trying to get Byleth’s attention behind them only solidified her answer. “Well, even if he thinks it’s funny, if we still call you Professor after thinking you were dead,” she raised her cup again, “to Sir Jeralt!”

“ _ Puh _ , no, not again-” warbled Annette, but Felix reaches over and lifts her wrist up as he and everybody else joined Ingrid.

“Oh,  _ no _ ,” Ingrid choked, unable to even feel relief that all the groaning earlier hadn’t been at her expense. “Professor, you’re supposed to water this down.”

Around her flask, Byleth smiled, just a little. “Jeralt would  _ definitely  _ think that was funny.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! just a simple little fella i found sitting in my WIP's from months ago. it was originally supposed to be an intro for something several times the size, but i lost interest in finishing it. i still liked this chunk tho and felt like this stood on its own enough to spend an evening dusting it off. [the doodle for this ones header is based off this truly incredible image of a panther i found when i wrote about byleth feeling like a panther and then asked google if knights knew what panthers were.](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/765307660462981120/780708454079791144/a027793ef13b482f2e095d3ae9ddfc45.jpg?width=726&height=671)
> 
> big thanks to [cy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/108_Stars/pseuds/108_Stars) for giving this a once-over for me! bye


End file.
